Observations from the Base

Julie Bloemeke

Lake Santeetlah, North Carolina

The problem with heights:
They are heights.

Again the resistance
of water.

How each kiss, somehow,
is an attempt to recreate,
not make new.

Lust: a four-letter word.
Also: what.

I have self-covenants:
One: to imagine no
other when with you.

By the fire, I slip.
I curse myself
for not loving better.

When I ask you if I am
someone else you say,
Only you.

I want to be this mountain.
But then I swim.

The problem with covenants:
They are covenants.

Later you say this to me:
The blank space is how
I honor it, deliciously gone.

Even the fog makes promises,
spans the hips of mountains.

Such great heights.
The fire wet ashes
we cannot light again.